au revoir
by AquaQuadrant
Summary: Today I'm not myself. And you- you're someone else. What a peculiar state we're in. (finale fic inspired by lorn-ka's fanart on tumblr, spoilers ahead)
**Author's Note** : Hi guys! Well I hadn't planned on writing anything for the finale but I saw lorna-ka's fantastic fanart on tumblr and in the span of two hours i wrote almost 1k so… it's a miracle? Honestly I've been grappling with writers block for what seems like forever it felt so good to just sit down and write thank you lorna-ka and thank you rebels. Originally posted on tumblr. Title and summary is from OneRepublic's _'Au Revoir'_ because I love the lyrics, though the song ends on a more hopeful note than my fic lol.

 **Warnings:** Description of injury, eye injury, mentions of death.

And now, without further ado, please read on and enjoy Au Revoir! :) - Aqua

* * *

 ** _au revoir_**

It's cold.

That's the only coherent thought Ezra can piece together as the ramp slams shut, echoing around the cabin. The _Phantom's_ engines groan with effort, roaring in his ears like thunder, and they lurch as the ship rockets away from the planet. The rumbling swells immeasurably louder, and as Chopper banks the _Phantom_ to the side Ezra catches a glimpse through the window.

Just in time to see the temple explode.

It's strangely beautiful, a magnificent kaleidoscope of colors- like something out of Sabine's wildest dreams- but the sense of evil that follows drenches Ezra in darkness, shockingly cold and all-consuming, like being plunged into a black, icy lake.

Kanan's still gripping his arm. He staggers backwards and collapses onto the bench, pulling Ezra with him. He follows dazedly, as if in a stupor. When he moves to sit down, his legs all but give out on him, and the spell is broken. He jolts forward and crashes into Kanan, sobbing, and he can feel something inside him breaking.

"There's nothing we can do now. It's over." Kanan gathers Ezra into his arms, his movements slightly clumsy, uncertain. "It's over."

Is it? Ezra wouldn't know it by the wellspring of grief in his chest. The tears seem never ending, and the longer he cries the more certain he is he won't be able to stop. The Sith holocron digs into his palm, pulsing with energy, and hatred rises in him like bile. It takes all his self-restraint to set it down beside him instead of hurling it across the cabin, the tears streaming down his face hot with anger.

Everything they did- it was all for _this_. It doesn't seem worth it.

"I c- could've _saved_ her," Ezra gasps, gripping at Kanan's shoulders, burying his face in his shirt. "I- I could've-"

"You would've died, too."

Ezra flinches, squeezing his eyes shut. He flounders for a response, comes up empty-handed. "I… I could've done _something."_

"No," Kanan says gently, quietly, but it's disorienting because his voice is metallic- distorted by the rusty silver mask, and it's hard to find Kanan in it all.

"K- Ka- anan…" Ezra pulls away slowly, his hands coming down to rest over his master's forearms. "We… we need to… y- your eyes…" The thought of pulling away that mask, seeing the damage, the _consequences_ of his mistake… the ice in his chest crawls up his throat and steals his breath, pulling him back into the darkness, the emptiness- Ezra stalls, wrestles himself free, sucks in a breath through gritted teeth and-

And he finds himself; it's all he can do to put himself back together, but when he does he's a shaken mess. "I n- need to treat your wound," he manages, his voice warbling. He reaches a trembling hand towards Kanan's face.

Kanan softly catches it, fingers loosely twining around Ezra's wrist. "I'll get Chopper to do it," he says absently.

"Chopper's flying the ship," Ezra reminds him, staring past Kanan into vacancy, fighting to ground himself, to stay the panic. He searches deep inside himself, and comes up with a scrap of humor. "Besides, he doesn't exactly have the best bedside manner." His lips are trembling, but he manages a small smile- an amazing feat in of itself. Ezra looks up at Kanan and-

Kanan can't see him smile. Everything hits him again and his smile drops off his face as if he was slapped. Ezra swallows thickly, his throat closing. He hopes Kanan could hear the smile in his voice.

There's a fragile pause, and Ezra can sense Kanan struggling beneath the surface. "… Okay," he relents, letting his arm drop.

Before he loses his nerve, Ezra takes a shaky breath and reaches for the mask, his fingers curling around the worn edges, and braces himself.

Ezra isn't sure what he expected. The gaping wound swipes across Kanan's face, a deep-set gouge that leaves his eyes empty sockets. It cuts through the bridge of his nose, and the visible bone is smoothed and blackened. All the skin is mottled and charred, smelling of burnt flesh and cauterized blood. Ezra's stomach turns, and his mind is suddenly assaulted with the image of someone dragging a hot metal rod through a lump of clay.

"How bad is it?" Kanan ventures finally.

Ezra inhales sharply, his eyes stinging, and leans forward, his head resting beneath Kanan's chin.

Kanan licks his lips. "That bad, huh?" he says hoarsely.

Ezra squeezes his eyes shut. "I'm so sorry," he whispers, fresh tears streaking across his cheeks.

"It's not your fault." Kanan's voice sounds detached, far away. Numb.

Ezra wishes he could feel the same. Between the guilt and the grief, he'd give _anything_ to be free of this pain. The crying starts again, and Kanan pulls him close. He hides his face in Kanan's shoulder, sobbing so hard his body shakes. It's his fault, all of it, and the irony is that he's the only one who didn't get hurt. Kanan paid with his sight, Ahsoka with her life. But Ezra? He's unscathed. How is that fair?

"I'm _sorry."_

It's not enough. It never will be.

* * *

The darkness whispers to him, softly at first, then more insistent.

He can trade guilt for hatred, grief for vengeance, pain for power. It feels wrong to accept it, in the beginning, but the anger burns away the ice in his heart, and he's desperate to escape this heavy, crushing agony.

The holocron fits neatly in his hands, like it was made for him, and when he calls, it answers.

It's a cold fire, but it's bearable.


End file.
